


This Kind Of Monster

by bokeh



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Gun Kink, Gunplay, Hand Jobs, M/M, Unsafe BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 19:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4638138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokeh/pseuds/bokeh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lester insists that he’s not responsible for any of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (I feel I should point out that all opinions in the story are Lester’s, not mine.)

Lorne studies Lester in the artificial light of a Las Vegas elevator.

“Lester, is this what you want?”

Lorne’s words are a challenge in Lester’s ears. Lorne’s looking at him like a parent amused by something stupid their child has just said. Like Lester isn’t good enough for Lorne to even acknowledge him, after all that’s happened between them. Well, Lester can decide for himself what he wants. And he’s not a coward; not any more.

When Lester saw Lorne in the bar just a few short minutes ago, he remembered everything that Lorne did for him. There right in front of him was the man who changed his life, who listened to him, who helped him when no-one else would. Lester owes him so much, but he won’t even let Lester tell him this.

The expectant eyes of the three other occupants of the elevator are all on Lester, waiting. They don’t know what they’re waiting for, and neither does Lester, really. He shifts his feet, stands up straight, ready to answer.

“Yes,” says Lester, making sure he looks Lorne in the eye as he says it, so there can be no doubt he means it.

He doesn’t expect Lorne to pull out a gun, a silver thing with a long silencer on the end, and shoot the others dead. After that, he hardly hears anything of what Lorne says. He’s too busy staring at the blood, splattered on the walls, pooling on the floor, so much blood. This is not what he agreed to. He didn’t ask for Lorne to kill anyone.

Lester’s still staring at Lorne with his mouth hanging open in shock when they reach the basement. Lorne instructs him to grab the fat man’s feet, but Lester wants no part in this. He figures that as Lorne’s just implicated him in a triple murder that he didn’t even commit, Lorne can deal with it.

When Lorne realises that Lester isn’t going to help, he steps over the contorted limbs on the floor until he’s standing in front of Lester. He eases the award, which Lester hadn’t realised he was still clutching tightly, out of Lester’s hand and inspects it.

“Lester Nygaard. Insurance salesman of the year two thousand and seven,” reads Lorne, tilting it in the light to see the words more clearly. “This award, doesn’t mean anything.” He casually tosses it towards the floor behind him. From the sound Lester thinks it landed on the fat man.

Lester stares in the direction of his discarded award in shock. He can’t believe it. He worked so hard for that award. It’s all that he’s achieved in the last twelve months: his success, his own business, his beautiful wife. That award is the pinnacle of his career, he’s king of the insurance world, and Lorne’s just dismissed it like it’s nothing. More than all the important business people he’s met (and impressed) at this conference, Lorne is the one he wants to show just how his life has changed.

Instead Lorne is looking closely at Lester with a hint of a smile on his lips. Before Lester can put his annoyance into words, Lorne asks him a question.

“Are you afraid of me, Lester?”

“No.” Lester doesn’t need bravado to answer this time. He isn’t. Yes, he knows Lorne is dangerous beyond anyone he’s ever met. He knows Lorne has killed five people, and probably many more. Some kind of contract killer, he guesses. He knows Lorne is capable of things far worse than he could ever imagine, knows for sure that Lorne is a very dangerous man, but for reasons that he can’t quite explain, Lester isn’t afraid of him.

Lorne smiles at this answer, like he knows something Lester doesn’t.

Lorne leans forward and places his left hand just to the side of Lester’s head, pressing his palm flat against the wall in a casual yet deliberate movement. As he stares at Lester intently, Lester realises that Lorne is standing entirely too close. He tries to back away and finds that his back is already against the wall. There’s nowhere he can go and Lorne is looking down at him with a predatory gaze, not smiling any more. He was wrong, thinks Lester, because he’s scared now. He feels like he can hardly breathe with Lorne so dangerously close, even though he doesn’t know exactly what he’s terrified of. Lorne shows no intention of stepping away, so Lester waits for him to ask another question.

Lester doesn’t realise Lorne is going to kiss him until he does.

Utterly confident, Lorne leans in and presses his lips against Lester’s, and for a moment Lester freezes in surprise. Lorne runs his tongue along Lester’s bottom lip, and Lester thinks he shouldn’t give in to this, he really shouldn’t, but it feels so good, and this is the man that Lester’s been thinking about for the past year. He opens to Lorne and starts kissing him back. Lorne immediately senses Lester’s capitulation and kisses him deeper, pushing Lester harder against the wall. Lorne grabs the lapel of Lester’s jacket with his free hand and thrusts his body against Lester’s. Somewhere deep down inside, Lester wanted this, and he lets Lorne devour him like a wolf with its prey. 

Just as suddenly as it began, Lorne breaks away and they both catch their breath. As Lorne scans Lester’s face for his reaction, Lester doesn’t see any fear or doubt in those dark eyes.

Suddenly Lester realises with a jolt of terror what he’s done. He’s just kissed the most dangerous man he’s ever met. And. He isn’t. He isn’t gay. He can’t have just kissed Lorne, he just can’t, but the evidence of his actions is right in front of him. Lester can’t think. He needs to get away. 

Lester looks around the elevator but sees nothing that will help. In a panic, he punches Lorne in the face as hard as he can. Which isn’t that hard, but it distracts Lorne just long enough for Lester to flee the elevator.

“Shit, Lester,” he hears Lorne say, and he’s never heard Lorne sound genuinely surprised before, but he doesn’t dare stop to look. Lester runs and keeps running.

*

The next day Lester’s still jittery as he drives himself and Linda back from the airport. Linda wants to stop off for lunch, and Lester hardly feels he can argue as he dragged her, confused, out of bed in the early hours and told her to pack.

They go into Lou’s diner, and as Lester bites into his grilled cheese he finally begins to relax. Nothing’s happened. He’s home. Maybe it was silly to think that Lorne would follow him at all. Lorne probably doesn’t give a shit. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?

It doesn’t last.

“Well, if it isn’t Lester Nygaard,” says an all-too-familiar voice behind him.

Lester turns slowly to see Lorne Malvo standing behind him, smiling. Lester freezes, unsure what to do. Lorne doesn’t look angry, even though Lester can see the bruise on his face where he hit him.

“Lester?” asks Linda, after a long moment where no-one speaks. “Are you going to introduce us?”

Lester needs to think fast. It’s too late now to deny that he’s ever met Lorne.

“Oh, yes,” replies Lester, desperately playing along with Lorne’s game for the moment. “Of course. This is, uh….” He suddenly remembers that Lorne certainly isn’t going by his own name right now. Lester’s not going to be stupid enough to call him _Lorne_.

“Mike,” supplies Lorne. “I’m an old friend of Lester’s. Didn’t expect to see you here,” he adds, turning to Lester. “What a coincidence! I’m only in town for a few days, on account of I’ve got some business up here to take care of.” Lorne’s voice sounds different, in fact his whole persona seems different - friendly, harmless, and not Lorne at all. He smiles a big enthusiastic smile. 

“I’m Linda, Lester’s wife. Please, do join us.”

Lester can’t very well say _no, go away_ without looking suspicious, so he just watches as Lorne sits down in the booth next to Linda, silently annoyed that his wife has to be so _nice_ to everybody.

“So how’s life treating you, Lester?” asks Lorne.

“Uh, ya, good,” begins Lester, unsure of where this is heading.

“We just got back from Las Vegas,” interrupts Linda. “Have you ever been? You must see the fountains, they’re _amazing_.” Glad of the interruption, Lester lets Linda take over the conversation and she animatedly begins to tell Lorne all about their recent trip.

Lester is trying to stay calm, but he has no idea what Lorne is really up to. Lorne’s playing at being normal, being friendly, smiling, and although it’s fooling Linda, to Lester it looks so wrong. It really doesn’t suit him. Lester wonders what Lorne is planning to do. He’s not going to tell Linda what happened last night, is he? Or is he just waiting for the right moment to pull out his gun and kill Lester, like he did with the others? Lester just can’t think of a way to get Lorne to leave.

Lester wonders why on earth he kissed the man last night. He has a good look at Lorne while his attention is on Linda, just to reassure himself that he doesn’t find Lorne attractive at all. He stares at Lorne’s lips and wonders why on earth he wanted to kiss him. He remembers how it felt last night, Lorne’s lips against his...

“Salesman of the year, Lester?” says Lorne, interrupting his thoughts. “Must’ve given you a big award for that.” He smiles mischievously.

_Shit_. Lester suddenly remembers. The award. Which he last saw lying on the body of the fat man in the elevator. Lester desperately hopes that Lorne didn’t just leave it there.

It’s all too much, Lester can’t keep the worry from showing on his face any more, and he needs to work out what to do. He excuses himself and makes a run for the bathroom.

In the stall, he tries to calm himself down and breathe. He still can’t figure out what Lorne is up to. He can’t escape.

_Ok. You can do this_ , he tells himself. He’ll just walk out there and tell Linda that they have to go. Then he’ll walk out to the car, not looking back, ignoring whatever Lorne might say, drive away. He’ll have to make sure that Lorne doesn’t follow them home, he can take the long way round up the hill if he needs to lose him.

Lester listens. It’s quiet. He’d better get back before they wonder where he’s got to. He stands, takes a breath, and steps out of the stall.

Lorne is leaning against the sink waiting for him.

Lester takes one look at Lorne’s calm face and knows he’s in trouble. Before he can make a run for it, Lorne grabs him by his jacket, spins him round, and slams him into the wall. Lester tries to escape but Lorne is holding him firmly, pressing him into the wall. He can feel the edge of the mirror digging in to his back.

“ _Nobody_ punches me in the face, Lester,” hisses Lorne, his face only inches from Lester’s. “Do you understand me?”

Lester can only squeak in reply.

“The last guy that tried that, I broke his hand. Before I slit his throat.”

Lorne, still wearing his black leather gloves, grabs Lester’s wrists and wraps his long fingers painfully tight around them.

“You’re a jerk,” continues Lorne, and his voice is low, angry, dangerous. “You’re arrogant. You think you’re better than everyone else, think you can outsmart everyone else, without even trying.”

“I…” begins Lester, not sure that there is anything he can say that won’t just make Lorne more angry. 

Without warning, Lorne spins Lester round to face the tiled wall. Before Lester knows what’s going on, Lorne grabs hold of his neck and tightens his grip. Lester tries to fight back, tries to kick him, tries to pull his hands away, but Lorne’s too strong for him and knows exactly what he’s doing.

Lorne drags him sideways, and as Lester stumbles he realises it’s so that Lorne can see his face in the mirror. Lorne’s a sick sadistic fuck, wanting to see this, thinks Lester. He knows he doesn’t have long. He can’t breathe, can’t escape Lorne’s grip, can’t think of a way out, and he’s beginning to black out. This is it, thinks Lester, he’s going to die here.

Abruptly Lorne releases him and he collapses to the floor. He gasps for breath on his hands and knees, his vision hazy, hardly able to even see the tiled floor in front of him.

Lorne crouches down beside Lester and lifts his chin to face him with one gloved hand. Lester wants to flinch away from the touch but there’s not enough oxygen in his body to do so.

“I’ve never met a man like you, Lester,” says Lorne softly. Then without another word he stands and leaves.

Once he’s recovered enough to stand up, Lester checks himself in the bathroom mirror. He examines his neck and the angry red marks across it. He’ll need to cover those before anyone sees.

Lester walks back into the diner, looking around nervously for any sign of Lorne, but doesn’t see any. He notices Linda’s white and grey tartan scarf on the edge of the table, so he grabs it and wraps it around his neck while she’s still looking out of the window daydreaming. 

“We’re going,” he tells her, trying to keep his voice calm.

She turns to look at him in confusion. “But what about your friend, Lester? He only just went-”

“He’s gone,” Lester tells her, trying to sound more sure of that than he feels.

*

Lester knows he needs to stop Lorne somehow before Lorne actually kills him. Obviously going to the cops isn’t an option.

Back in the office the next morning, Lester figures out what to do.

*

Lorne checks that no-one is watching him before he unlocks the door to his motel room. He steps inside and drops his gloves onto the bed, followed by his coat, a shortish, dark grey thing with a massive black collar. 

“No-one tries to strangle me,” says a familiar voice behind him, slowly, deliberately. 

Lorne stops absolutely still. He slowly turns to see Lester sitting in a chair next to the door, dressed all in black except for a grey suit jacket, Chaz’s gun resting on his knee.

Lester wishes he could have seen the look on Lorne’s face before he turned. He would have liked to see Lorne surprised for once, before he shoots him.

He stands slowly and points his gun at Lorne in a way that he intends to be intimidating. Lester is determined to be in control of the situation this time.

“No-one threatens me, Lorne,” states Lester. 

“Lester, stop,” says Lorne in a tone of voice that suggests Lester is a complete idiot.

Lester doesn’t stop. This is the only way he can be sure that he’ll be safe. He’s going to pull the trigger. He is. He just wants to see Lorne be a little bit scared first. He wants to see him not in control. 

Except. Lorne pulls his silver gun out of his jacket pocket and aims it directly at Lester. 

“Lester,” he says, deliberately, calmly. Smiling like he’s in control. “Put the gun down.” 

“No.” Lorne’s bored parent act didn’t work on Lester last time and it isn’t going to work now. Lester isn’t going to be told what to do. 

“Lester.” Lorne sounds annoyed now, although he’s still smiling. “Put it down. Right now.”

Lester shakes his head. This is all starting to go wrong, and he doesn’t trust his voice enough to speak. Lester realises belatedly that this might not have been a good idea. He spent most of this morning planning exactly how he was going to get into Lorne’s motel room, but hadn’t thought through what he was going to do once he was there.

“No?” Lorne echoes Lester’s reply, with what could be surprise. For a moment Lester wonders whether anyone has ever said _no_ to Lorne before.

Lorne takes a step closer and presses the cold muzzle of his gun to Lester’s forehead. Lorne’s hand doesn’t shake at all, unlike Lester’s.

Lester thinks that Lorne’s trying to scare him, to threaten him into doing what he wants, but he refuses to give in. He looks up into Lorne’s dark eyes and can’t read anything there. Lester’s playing with fire. He has no idea how he’s going to survive, but he knows that if he shows any weakness now it’ll be the end of him. He plays the only move remaining to him. He puts his own gun to Lorne’s forehead, and tries to keep it steady.

For a moment they stay like this, neither of them moving. It’s silent apart from the sound of Lester’s fast breathing which he just can’t seem to slow down. As Lorne studies his face intently, Lester tries to hide his fear. 

Then Lorne moves closer, slides his gun round to the side, moves his free hand to grip the hair at the back of Lester’s head and kisses him roughly. Lester opens to Lorne willingly, and Lorne slides his tongue into Lester’s mouth, kisses him hot and wet. Lester’s right hand hangs in the air, gun forgotten. Lester really isn’t sure what he wants right now, but kissing Lorne is addictive, and he’s not dead, so he’ll figure it all out later. 

Lorne steps back, putting his own gun back into his jacket. Then he carefully takes Lester’s gun out of his hand and lays it on the bedside table behind him. 

“Don’t you. Ever. Point a loaded gun at me again,” says Lorne. He looks calm, but Lester wonders if he’s just managed to scare Lorne Malvo. The man who’s afraid of nothing. Lester just shakes his head in agreement. 

Lorne kisses Lester again and pushes him backwards against the wall. Lester cautiously touches him, putting his hands on his shoulders, unsure. Lorne kisses down the side of Lester’s neck as he unbuttons his shirt, every move confident. He continues to kiss Lester as he runs his hands over Lester’s chest, pausing to rub his nipples, then his hands sneak downwards until he presses a firm hand on Lester’s erection through his trousers. 

“Jeez, Lorne, what are you doing?” Lester almost shouts.

Lorne looks at him mock thoughtfully as he slowly undoes the top button, slides down the zipper and frees Lester’s hard cock. Lorne’s gaze flicks down to it for a moment, then back up at Lester, and he smiles. 

“I’m fucking you, Lester. Unless this isn’t what you wanted when you broke into my room and kissed me?”

Lester just stares at him, shocked by his bluntness. Then Lorne slides his hand down Lester’s cock and Lester can’t think how to begin a coherent reply. The jolt of pleasure it sends through him rolls his hips forwards, and Lorne takes this as an invitation to continue. He sets up a rhythm, gripping Lester’s cock firmly. 

“How does it feel?” asks Lorne.

“Jeez, I, it-” begins Lester, suddenly awkward.

Lorne slows his hand and repeats himself firmly. “Lester. Tell me.” Lester can hear the implicit warning in his voice if Lester doesn’t obey.

“Jeez, Lorne.” Lester doesn’t want to have to say it out loud, wouldn’t even know where to begin, but he’s also desperate for Lorne to continue what he’s doing. “It feels- it feels good,” he finally manages. “It feels really good. Please. Don’t stop.”

“You like me touching your dick like this?” whispers Lorne into his ear, like it’s a secret just between the two of them. Lester nods. In response, Lorne reaches down and unzips himself with his free hand, the one that isn’t currently stroking Lester’s cock. “In that case,” says Lorne, sounding a little out of breath, “show me.” 

Lester stills, unsure. He’s never touched another man’s cock before. Lorne, who clearly has, doesn’t seem to care; he simply grabs Lester’s hand and places it over his erect cock. Lester cautiously feels the length of it, caresses his fingertips over the head, then finally he begins to stroke it slowly. 

“Good boy, Lester,” says Lorne softly into his ear as Lester gradually becomes more confident, and resumes his own motion on Lester’s cock.

It’s not long until Lester can feel his orgasm building low down. “Aw jeez, I-,” he begins, and comes, hard, into Lorne’s hand. Lester’s legs turn to jelly and he can hardly stand as Lorne furiously works his own cock for a few more moments before coming with a groan. 

As he tucks himself back in, Lorne looks at Lester calmly. “You should go,” he says.

“What?” Lester stares, open-mouthed in confusion.

“Clean yourself up,” says Lorne with a glance over at the en-suite bathroom, “and go.” He takes a step back and zips himself up.

_So that’s how it is_ , thinks Lester, and that feeling isn’t disappointment, it isn’t. Lester pushes himself off the wall and makes his way into the en-suite. He clicks on the light and cleans himself up as best he can, carefully rinsing off the come without splashing his clothes. Then he walks back into the bedroom and picks his coat up off the chair. Lorne is lounging on the bed casually, like nothing has happened. 

“Will I- I mean- do you want-” begins Lester. He has no idea how to say this without sounding desperate. “Aw heck.” Lorne just watches him expectantly. 

“How long are you going to be in town for?” says Lester finally. 

“A few days yet,” replies Lorne, smiling like he enjoyed Lester’s discomfort. “Now go. Otherwise your pretty little wife will be wondering where you’ve got to.”

Lester looks at his watch and realises that Lorne has a point. As he leaves he’s already constructing a story about the client that he’s spent all afternoon with.

*

The next day is colder and Lorne has his coat collar up against the wind as he returns to his motel room. Immediately he knows that someone else has been here. His briefcase, which he left lying on the table by the window, has been moved a few inches to the left, and Lorne hasn’t survived this long without knowing when somebody has been through his things. He doubts that it’s Lester this time. He would still be here waiting for him.

Lorne quickly searches the room for an intruder, gun in hand, but finds no-one. Then he checks the contents of the briefcase and finds a space where the tape labelled _Lester Nygaard_ should be. Lorne knows what’s going to happen next. He’s going to go to the front desk and enquire who’s been in his room. Once they’ve given him a satisfactory answer, he’ll shoot them.

First, however, he has something which could be more informative. He pulls the police scanner out from its hiding place under a pile of clothes in the drawer and switches it on. 

“- supposed to go back to the room, but he-” says a male voice.

“You would’ve been there too if you hadn’t-” interrupts a second male voice. 

“Am I telling this or are you?” says the first, irritated.

“Fine, fine,” says the second.

Lorne rolls his eyes at the standard of police officers these days. 

“So, Agent Budge tries to get into our room,” continues the first, “except our room is number seventeen, but this idiot thinks it’s fifteen. And of course the key doesn’t work. And instead of checking, he asks that dumb boy in the motel, and he doesn’t check either, he just gets the skeleton key and lets him in.” 

“Are you going somewhere with this, Agent Pepper?” asks a female voice. “Because I’ve still got to look over the stuff they sent up from Las Vegas today.”

“Yes, Deputy, I am. So eventually he realises he’s in the wrong room, and he’s about to leave when he notices an odd-looking briefcase on the table. He opens it, it’s not locked you see, and inside there are all these tapes-”.

“Each of the tapes was labelled with a name,” interrupts Budge. “And, you won’t believe this, one of them was labelled Lester Nygaard. So I took it and-”

“Uhh, you do realise that’s not strictly legal?” says the deputy.

“What?” says Pepper. “Ok, maybe not exactly, but we found a tape player-”.

“Was lucky our car still has one,” interrupts Budge. “Who has a _cassette player_ any more?”

“Yes,” says Pepper, impatient, “and Deputy, you’re _going to want to hear this_.” 

The deputy pauses for a moment before she answers, but Lorne isn’t listening any more. He’s already packing up the few possessions he has. He knows exactly what’s on that tape. He’s listened to it a hundred times.

He’s leaving Minnesota.

*

Lester has just got home from work when the phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Listen to me and stay calm, Lester,” says Lorne. “The cops are coming for you. I give it an hour before they’re at your door with a warrant.”

Lester is anything but calm. He wants to panic, to ask Lorne what to do, even to beg Lorne for help. But Linda is only a few feet away unpacking groceries in the kitchen, and if he says anything at all right now, she’ll know by the panic in his voice that something is wrong.

After a long silence Lorne asks, “Do you understand me, Lester?”

“Uhh, yes,” manages Lester in what he hopes is a casual tone. 

“Pack a bag,” instructs Lorne. “I’ll be right over.” Then he hangs up. 

Lester glances towards the kitchen again, but he’s safely out of Linda’s line of sight. He allows himself a few seconds to breathe and collect himself, his gaze unfocused upon the phone on the wall.

*

Upstairs in his and Linda’s bedroom, Lester wonders how he is supposed to pack everything that he wants to take with him in a few short minutes. He needs to travel light, so he’ll have to leave behind his collection of expensive suits and ties. He briefly runs his fingers down the sleeve of his favourite charcoal grey suit, which now has bloodstains on it, before dismissing it. Then he picks up the black onyx and silver cufflinks he bought himself for his birthday, and deliberates whether he’ll need cufflinks on the run. 

Ten minutes later Lester is just finishing packing when he hears the doorbell ring. He leaves it to Linda to open the door, and overhears Lorne playing his Mike act with her. He’s not quite able to make out what Lorne’s saying and wonders what story he’s telling her.

Lorne silently comes in and stands just inside the door, assessing first Lester, then the packed case on the bed. Lorne has no cause for complaint, thinks Lester, he’s followed his instructions exactly. But that isn’t what Lorne asks.

“Tell me, Lester, what do we do about Linda?”

“What do you mean?” Lester might have a _tiny_ idea what Lorne means, but he doesn’t want to think it just yet. 

“Does she live? Or die?”

“Jeez, Lorne.” Lester looks around the room, at the case on the bed, at the chests of drawers, but Lorne is still staring at him waiting for an answer. “I- I don’t know. I haven’t thought-”

“You choose,” says Lorne. “But make it quick. We have to leave. Now.”

“I don’t know,” says Lester again. He fiddles nervously with the navy blue box the cufflinks are in. How should he know what to do? “What do you think?”

Lorne pauses a moment before he answers. “She’s already met me twice. And she may know much more than you realise. She could tell the cops everything she knows the moment you’re gone. If she’s dead, you’ll be safe.”

“Ok, so we kill her,” says Lester. Just this once, he’ll listen to Lorne. He’s not going to take a risk on this. Relieved that the decision has been made, he straightens up and lifts his chin. He moves to pick up his bag, but Lorne hasn’t finished.

“Maybe she knows nothing at all,” continues Lorne, “nothing that the cops don’t already know. She doesn’t even know my real name. You won’t have told her anything about Sam Hess or your first wife. And she’ll have no idea where you’re going now. Maybe there’s no need to kill her. You could spare her life.”

Lester pauses. Of course, they _could_ kill Linda, but that would be unnecessary.

“Ok, so we let her live,” says Lester. There. Decision made.

Lorne smiles, like there’s a joke only he knows. Lester looks at him, not quite understanding.

“I’ve convinced you of both now.”

“This isn’t helping,” says Lester, irritated. With every passing second he’s becoming more aware that they do indeed have to leave _now_.

“Your choice,” says Lorne casually. “We’re leaving. Car’s outside.” And with that he leaves. 

After a moment’s consideration Lester puts the cufflinks in his case and zips it up. The doorbell rings a second time. _Yes Lorne, I’m coming_ , thinks Lester as he carries his case down the stairs. 

When he opens the door it isn’t Lorne but two men both smartly dressed in suits. 

“Mr Nygaard?” asks the taller one. Lester nods warily. “I’m Agent Budge and this is Agent Pepper.” He flashes his ID at Lester. “We’re with the FBI. We’d like to come in and ask you a few questions.”

_Shit shit shit._

“Sorry, uhh, now isn’t a good time,” says Lester, desperately trying to think how he can end this conversation and leave. He has Chaz’s gun tucked into the back of his trousers, but he doesn’t want to use it unless he has to. The FBI agents are certainly both armed, and it would be two against one.

“Sorry, sir, but we have a warrant,” says Budge. 

Lester can’t help fidgeting, moving from foot to foot nervously. He needs to stall while he thinks of – something. “Can you let me see?” he asks.

“It’s with Deputy Solverson,” says Budge, “she’ll be arriving shortly.” 

“Man, I _told_ you to wait,” hisses Pepper.

“Sir, you’re only delaying the inevitable,” says Budge. “We’d just like to come in and ask you some questions regarding-”

At that moment Lester glimpses movement behind them and knows to instantly drop to the floor, flinging up an arm to protect his head. 

He hears two shots and then silence.

Lester cautiously looks up to see Lorne putting his gun back into his jacket pocket. In front of him Budge and Pepper lie dead and Lorne looks at them, curious, almost as if he’s surprised to see them there. 

Suddenly Linda screams behind him. Lester had forgotten about her. “Oh my god, what happened? Lester? Who would do – oh my.” She looks at both Lester and Lorne, but neither say a word. “We have to call the police.”

Everything is going wrong. “No, Linda, don’t,” says Lester as he gets to his feet again, not entirely sure how he’s going to convince her of this. Linda can’t call the cops; he needs as much time as possible to get away. “You can’t, not yet.”

But Linda isn’t listening any more. “It’s _him_ isn’t it?” she says accusingly. “He gives me the creeps.” She rushes back into the house.

Lester remembers the question Lorne put to him earlier. “Ok,” he says, turning back to Lorne. “Do it. I’ve decided.”

Lorne looks at him calmly, yet intently. “You do it.”

“What?” Lester thought that Lorne meant that he would do it. Not Lester. “I- I can’t.”

“It’ll still be on you, even if I pull the trigger,” reasons Lorne with a shrug. “So you might as well do it.” 

Lester can’t. He can’t just shoot someone dead. For a few long seconds he waits on the doorstep, hoping that Lorne’s just messing with him, but Lorne doesn’t move.

Lester goes back into the house, just to see where Linda is, nothing else. He steps softly along the hall, listening, and hears her pick up the phone in the kitchen.

He has to stop her, if Lorne won’t. He pulls Chaz’s gun out of his trousers with shaking hands and manages to get the safety off on the second attempt. He steps into the kitchen, already knowing where Linda will be standing, and fires once. Lester doesn’t ever want to remember how the bullet hits her in the face, or the way she crumples to the floor without even a scream. 

Lester checks himself over and finds blood splatter on his second-favourite suit. He’ll have to deal with that later. He knows that this is the part where they hide the bodies.

Three minutes later Lorne is driving south, taking them out of town in a car that Lester doesn’t think belongs to him. Lester’s now on the run, leaving everything he has ever known behind, and he doesn’t know what to do with that thought as he stares out into the increasing darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Once they’re safely out of town and Lorne’s satisfied that they’re not being followed, he turns west and keeps driving into the night. 

“How did you know the cops were coming?” asks Lester a few miles later. 

“Police scanner,” explains Lorne. “Useful if you have an interest in what the cops are up to. I heard them discussing the warrant for your arrest for your wife’s murder. Your _first_ wife, that is.”

“What evidence did they have?” asks Lester, ignoring Lorne’s last remark. Lester had thought that with Chaz in jail he was no longer under suspicion. Even though Chaz hasn’t been convicted yet, the cops were sure they had their man. Until now.

“I don’t know, Lester. They seemed certain that they had proof of your guilt. Does it matter?”

“No, I guess not,” answers Lester. “Well, thanks. For coming for me.” 

“No need to thank me. I only ever do what I want to do.”

After a few moments of silence, Lester works up enough courage to ask Lorne a more personal question.

“Why do you do – what you do?”

“And what exactly is it that you think I do, Lester?” asks Lorne, giving him a brief glance.

“Uh, contract killing?” says Lester awkwardly. He wonders what has happened to his life that _contract killing_ has become an appropriate phrase to use in conversation.

“No, that’s not what I do. I consider myself to be a student of human nature. I simply observe the choices people make. I’m not responsible for their decisions, I just lay it all out in front of them and tell them what their options are. The contract killing is merely a sideline, a way to pass the time and to get me to where I need to go.”

Lester doesn’t reply to this, so Lorne continues, “Tell me, what made you decide to shoot Linda?”

“I-,” begins Lester, unsure how to explain this. He isn’t a killer. He isn’t capable of killing anyone, not really. “I didn’t want her to die. She- she was nice. She always admired me. Even during the whole… investigation last year. Never doubted me, you know?” He glances at Lorne but his face is blank. “But it’s just like you said – I had to. Shooting Linda was self defence, if I hadn’t she would’ve called the cops, we wouldn’t have had time to get out.”

“How does it feel being a killer, Lester?” The softly spoken words are almost an accusation.

“I’m not,” replies Lester quickly. “Not- not like that.” He isn’t. He _isn’t_.

*

Around midnight, after many hours of driving, all Lester knows is that they’re somewhere in the wilds of North Dakota. In the pitch black of an empty highway they pass through mile after mile of snow, and trees that Lester can’t really see but knows are there. Eventually Lorne slows and turns into a driveway that Lester couldn’t even make out a second before. A small wooden cabin is illuminated in the beam of the headlights.

“We’ll stay here tonight,” Lorne tells him. Lester’s too tired to answer.

Inside, Lorne lights the fire and heats up a couple of tins of food he found, while Lester stares at the unfamiliar room with its rustic wooden furniture and wonders what’s happening with his life.

*

Lester wakes the next morning to muted winter sunshine and the realisation that he’s gone on the run with a contract killer. He hardly knows anything at all about the man, and yet he’s gone and trusted him with his life.

Lester slept on the sofa last night, an uncomfortable wooden thing with an ugly floral pattern on the thin cushions. Lorne had claimed the bed and, well, Lester doesn’t know where he stands with him. Lester gets up, wrapping a blanket around himself, and looks around the cabin. He lights the fire to warm the place up a bit, then looks through the cupboards in the kitchenette. Nothing. Nothing edible anyway. 

A few minutes later Lorne comes out of the bathroom and sits in front of the fire, angling his head to dry his hair quicker. 

“Did you, uh, dye your hair?” asks Lester.

“I couldn’t stand that silver hair. It was only for that one job.” Lorne runs his hand through his damp hair. “Didn’t miss the bangs though.” Now Lester sees that Lorne’s dyed his beard black as well.

“Do you like it?” asks Lorne, turning to watch Lester intently.

“Yes,” says Lester, suddenly awkward. He quickly looks away.

“Good,” says Lorne. “Now let’s go. We have an appointment this afternoon.”

*

Lorne drives them to the nearby city of Bismarck. Now that they’re travelling by daylight, Lester can see the flat snow-covered landscape stretching out for miles either side of the road.

After a few minutes Lester breaks the silence. “So, uh, what exactly are we doing today?”

“You’ll see.”

“Well, yeah, I guess I will, but, what is it?”

“It’s all under control,” replies Lorne, eyes fixed on the empty road ahead.

“But what?” asks Lester. When Lorne doesn’t reply, he continues, “Heck, Lorne, we gotta work together here. You’ve got to let me in.”

“I’m a lone wolf. I don’t like other people getting in the way. I always work alone.”

“Not any more,” says Lester quickly.

Lorne glances at him. “Listen to me, Lester. We’re going to get new ID for you, because there’s nothing you can do without that. You can’t even stay in a decent motel, not under your real name. And then you’re going to make yourself a new life, far away from Minnesota, and I’m going to go back to mine.”

“But-” begins Lester. He’s only just found Lorne again, and now he’s leaving. “I thought- I thought we could travel together, you know, we both-”

“Lester,” interrupts Lorne. “It’s best if we part ways after this. You have to understand, it’s a dangerous life I live. I’ll only say this once. You’ll die sooner, if you’re with me.”

“If you hadn’t come for me I’d be spending the rest of my life in jail. Anything has got to be better than that.”

Lorne presses his lips together thoughtfully as he looks at Lester again. “Your choice, Lester. You can stay with me as long as you want.”

*

Back at the cabin that afternoon, Lester asks Lorne to teach him how to shoot properly. He never really learned, since his father didn’t shoot at all, and Chaz never had the patience to explain anything more than pulling the trigger. Now, on the run with the cops after him, Lester reasons that he needs to know how to defend himself. Just in case.

Lester explains all of this to Lorne.

“Sure, Lester,” is his reply.

Lester follows him outside and they walk up the steep snow-covered slope behind the cabin until they’re far enough away that the road is no longer visible through the trees. It’s a cold but calm afternoon with little wind. Lorne pins a paper target to a nearby tree, then walks back to where Lester is waiting.

“Now, show me your aim,” says Lorne. 

Lester aims his gun at the target, gripping it firmly with both hands, then glances uncertainly at Lorne.

“Right. So first you gotta grip your gun properly,” Lorne tells him. “The way you hold that thing is _terrible_ , Lester, _both_ index fingers on the trigger, what are you trying to do?” He reaches over and moves the offending fingers. “Plus, you don’t keep your thumbs clear of the slide, that it hasn’t bitten you yet is just luck.”

Dissatisfied, Lorne takes the gun entirely out of Lester’s hands, and in one quick movement he’s holding the gun in both hands, aiming squarely at the target, and looking more at ease with it than Lester has ever felt.

“Like this,” explains Lorne.

Demonstration over, he hands the gun back to Lester and shows him precisely where to place each of his fingers, first those of his right hand, then his left. He also twists Lester’s left arm into a position that to Lester feels awkwardly high. 

“It doesn’t feel right,” complains Lester.

“It’s to absorb the recoil energy from the gun, in case you need to take a second shot,” explains Lorne.

“You sure seem to know a lot about this.”

“I was trained by a police marksman down in Florida in ’78. He was one of the best. Really liked to show off, though, did Sam. He always did these little tricks, to show off how good he was, or how fast he could change the magazine. Dead now, though.” Lorne smiles a mock-sad smile.

*

After much shooting, instruction, and constant re-adjusting of Lester’s grip, Lorne still isn’t happy with Lester’s technique.

“I need more practice, is all,” says Lester, when Lorne shows him just how far out he was on the latest paper target.

“You’re too tense,” Lorne tells him. “Try again.”

Lester lifts his gun and takes aim again. But as he does so Lorne, who’s standing close behind him now, leans forward and whispers into his ear, “Just relax, Lester.”

However Lorne’s words have the opposite effect on him. Lester takes a shaky breath and tries to calm down, tries to not think about the fact that Lorne is still so close behind him. Then Lorne gently bites Lester’s ear, and he jumps, startled. He turns to look at Lorne, but he just looks innocently back at him.

Lester doesn’t know what kind of game Lorne’s playing here.

“Ok, that’s enough for today,” says Lester quickly, already turning to walk back down the slope. Lorne just watches him go.

*

Lester’s still trying to figure out what just happened as he enters the cabin. Maybe Lorne was just messing with him. Maybe Lorne finds it funny to see how much he can embarrass him. After taking off his coat and boots, Lester puts his gun safely away in his case. This lesson, whatever it was, is over.

At that moment, as Lester’s still kneeling on the wooden floor beside his case, Lorne comes in the cabin door. He silently studies Lester from where he stands, making Lester feel uncomfortable under his gaze. Lester wonders if he should say something about what happened just now. But he has no idea what he would actually say, whether he would explain himself or just tell Lorne to quit embarrassing him.

Then he notices the gun in Lorne’s hand hanging casually by his side, and the way that Lorne’s currently looking at him. He’d call it cold, angry. The thought suddenly strikes Lester that perhaps he’s done something wrong, broken some rule without even being aware of doing so, and now Lorne’s about to shoot him for his transgression in quiet anger. Lester stays on his knees, frozen, beside his zipped-up case.

Lorne sits down on the sofa slowly, still watching Lester intently.

“Remember I told you that you never point a loaded gun at anyone you don’t want to shoot?” asks Lorne.

Lester nods, confused. Lorne was instructing him on gun safety only a short while ago. He still doesn’t move from the floor.

As Lester watches, Lorne slides the magazine out of his gun in a slow, deliberate action, then removes the bullets one by one, placing each one carefully on the coffee table in front of him.

“If you point a gun at someone, he’ll assume it’s loaded, even if it isn’t,” says Lorne. “He’ll do whatever you tell him.” He pushes the empty magazine back in with a click. “Do you understand me, Lester?” 

“N-no.”

Lorne levels his gun straight at Lester. “Do you understand me now?” 

Lorne’s looking at Lester ruthlessly, with no trace of the smile that was there just a few minutes ago. This is the face of cold merciless assassin Lorne. Lester thinks this must be the last thing Lorne’s victims ever see. Even though Lester knows he’s not actually about to die, the sight is just a little bit terrifying. 

And somehow compelling in a way that it _really_ shouldn’t be. 

“We’re going to play a little game, you and I,” says Lorne, and for the briefest moment one side of his mouth twitches into a smile. “We’re going to pretend this is still loaded.” 

Lester can do that. Heck, Lorne’s looking at him like he’s about to kill him anyway. Lester figures that the small matter of the gun not being loaded wouldn’t stop him.

Lester nods his agreement and scrambles to his feet, figuring that whatever is about to happen, he probably should be standing for it. His mouth is suddenly dry and he doesn’t know why, he hasn’t actually done anything. He’s not enjoying this, he isn’t. He shouldn’t. He tries to ignore the thoughts rushing through his head of what Lorne _might_ do.

Lorne ushers Lester into the bedroom. Lester hasn’t had a good look round this room yet – there’s a double bed, which looks far more comfortable than the sofa, and a few other items of furniture all in the same rustic wooden style. Lorne’s few possessions are scattered about the room. Behind Lester, Lorne closes the door softly, a statement of intent.

As Lester stands in the middle of the room awkwardly, Lorne sits down on the bed, spreads his legs wide, and fixes his gaze upon Lester again.

“First, I’d like you to take off your shirt,” states Lorne, indicating the garment in question with a flick of his gun. 

Lester follows Lorne’s instructions, first pulling off his sweater and dropping it to the floor. He unbuttons his white shirt with shaking fingers, trying not to think about what this all means. He glances up at Lorne, who’s watching silently with the same ruthless expression, but he quickly looks away again, not daring to return Lorne’s gaze.

Lester is about to remove his shirt when Lorne stops him. “No,” Lorne tells him, as he stands and takes the edges of the shirt out from Lester’s hands. In one quick movement he’s pulled the shirt from Lester’s shoulders and behind him, wrapping it around his arms. When Lorne steps back, Lester’s hands are fastened behind his back.

Lorne picks up the gun again and idly aims it at Lester as he looks him over. Lester tugs experimentally at the shirt holding his wrists but they’re firmly tied. He could try to force his hands free but he’s pretty sure that would be against the rules of this game, whatever they are. 

Lorne walks around Lester slowly, silently assessing, gun on him all the while. Lester can’t begin to guess what Lorne is thinking. Lorne’s behind him now, which makes him more nervous, as he can’t see what Lorne is doing.

“You look good like this, Lester,” says Lorne finally.

He walks back into view, standing closer in front of Lester now. His eyes flick down to Lester’s crotch. “Look at you, hard for me already. You like this, don’t you?”

Lester’s embarrassed, and he feels his face heat.

“Tell me Lester, is it because of me, or because of the gun?”

Lester doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to admit to _this_. Admitting it would make it real, and Lester doesn’t want to be this, the kind of man Lorne’s implying he is. Without an answer, he’s still got room for reasonable doubt.

Lorne’s eyes flick up to Lester’s, a ruthless stare. “You haven’t answered me, Lester,” he says, warning clear in his voice. 

“Uh, I- I don’t…” stammers Lester.

Before Lester can finish his sentence, Lorne presses his gun firmly under Lester’s jaw. Lester doesn’t dare move away, and he’s not sure he wants to. He feels the cold muzzle digging in to his neck.

“When I ask you a question, Lester, you’re _going_ to answer me,” states Lorne. Lester didn’t think Lorne’s voice could go any deeper, but he was wrong. “Because if you don’t, I’ll pull the trigger and it’ll be the last thing you ever know. So I’ll ask you again. Are you hard because of me, or the gun?”

Lorne’s fucking terrifying like this. A dark, terrifying force of nature, who’s quite capable of killing Lester in an instant if he so chose. And Lester doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on.

“Because of- because of- both,” concludes Lester.

“Good boy.” Lorne takes the gun away from Lester’s neck and Lester drops his head in relief. “It’s ok, Lester. I already knew. I knew from the moment I pointed a gun at you in that motel room that you wanted this. I just wanted you to admit it to yourself.” 

Lorne presses the gun under Lester’s jaw again, more gently this time. He trails the gun down Lester’s throat, over his chest, the cold hard metal against his skin, promising danger wherever it touches.

“You want me to do unspeakable things to you, Lester,” continues Lorne. “You want me to fuck you and make you scream my name, and it’ll all be because I’m the one holding the gun. It won’t be on you.”

Lester trembles. He can’t deny the truth of everything that Lorne’s just described. Lorne moves the gun further down to brush along the side of Lester’s hard cock through the fabric of his pants and watches Lester’s nervous reaction intently. 

Lorne reaches behind Lester, and he suddenly feels the material binding his wrists being removed. Lorne throws the shirt to the floor.

“Strip,” instructs Lorne.

Lester complies, pulling off the rest of his clothes quickly, carefully not looking at Lorne. When he’s down to only his underpants, he hesitates. He glances nervously up at Lorne, who’s observing him expectantly, then gives in to the inevitable and pulls them off. He’s hard, definitely hard, and Lorne blatantly stares for a long few seconds.

“Have you ever been fucked by a man?” asks Lorne casually. 

“Aw jeez, no, I’ve never-”

“Ok,” says Lorne thoughtfully, and begins to undress.

As Lester watches Lorne strip off his own thick sweater, it suddenly hits him exactly what he’s about to do, or rather, what Lorne’s going to do to him. Lester’s never done this before, and he doubts that Lorne will be gentle with him. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. He searches for the right explanation, a way to back out without making him sound like a coward.

But before Lester can say a word, Lorne steps behind him again and presses his gun to the back of Lester’s head. “Have you forgotten already? You’re going to do exactly what I tell you,” he growls into Lester’s ear, so close behind him now, but still not making contact with any part of his body. “You’re going to let me fuck you.”

Lester doesn’t actually have to do this. There are no bullets in Lorne’s silver gun. 

“Lester?” There’s a note of curiosity in Lorne’s voice.

Lester shouldn’t do this. He’s not going to do this. He should leave, now. 

“On the bed, Lester,” says Lorne, in that commanding tone of voice of his, the one that goes straight to Lester’s cock.

Lester sits down on the edge of the bed nervously.

“No, not like that. On your hands and knees.”

Lester awkwardly does as Lorne tells him, while Lorne grabs some lube Lester hadn’t noticed before and squeezes some onto his long fingers. He settles on the bed behind Lester and grips his hip firmly with one hand. With the other, he runs a finger over Lester’s crack, and Lester trembles.

“I’m going to prepare you first,” explains Lorne, and before Lester has time to think about what that means, he presses a finger inside. Lester jerks a little in surprise but forces himself to stay still as Lorne slowly works his finger in and out of him. After a little while Lester gets used to the strange sensation and begins to enjoy it. When Lorne adds a second finger, however, Lester gasps and tenses up.

“You have to relax,” says Lorne. “This is only two fingers. My dick is much bigger than this.”

Lester takes a deep breath and exhales in an attempt to stop his muscles tensing, but it’s difficult with Lorne’s fingers pushing inside of him, invading him, stretching him. Just as the discomfort fades into the need for more, Lorne abruptly pulls his fingers all the way out.

“Tell me, Lester, do I need to use a condom?” 

“No, I’m- I’m clean,” answers Lester.

“Are you sure? I know _exactly_ why you were in that bar in Las Vegas. How many girls have you fucked in the last year? Even after you married that naïve little wife of yours?” 

“I always used a- used protection,” says Lester. “I didn’t want to get one pregnant, then she might, uh-”

“Are you sure? With every single one?”

“N-no,” admits Lester.

Lorne mutters something that Lester doesn’t quite catch as he reaches for a condom.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Lorne tells him, already pressing the tip of his cock against Lester’s entrance. “You’re ready.”

Lester’s not sure that he is, but he tries his best to relax and let Lorne take him. Lorne slides into him slowly, inch by inch, until he’s fully inside, and Lester feels more full than he ever thought possible. 

“Look at you,” says Lorne, finally sounding a little breathless, “with my dick inside you, you’re such a _bad_ boy, aren’t you?” 

“Jeez, yes, Lorne.” Lester’s unsure if he still has to reply to everything that Lorne asks, so it’s easier to just assume that he does.

“Relax,” Lorne tells him, “you can take it.” He slowly pulls his cock almost all the way out. “You’re going to enjoy this. Does it hurt at all, Lester?”

“No,” says Lester, “it doesn’t-” but Lorne slams back into him without waiting for him to finish. Lorne grips Lester’s hips with both hands and begins to fuck him in a slow, steady rhythm. Lester angles his hips just right to meet Lorne and pushes back against him. He can’t think of anything else besides Lorne continuing to fuck him, the pleasure building inside him with every thrust.

“You’re a bad boy, Lester, just look at you, taking all of my dick,” says Lorne, not breaking his rhythm at all.

“Yes, Lorne,” gasps Lester.

“Letting me fuck you,” continues Lorne, “letting me put my dick in you, up to my balls. My balls, Lester,” he says, mock-surprised. 

Lester reaches for his own cock and begins stroking it. He’s so close now. “Jeez, Lorne, I’m gonna,” he gasps.

Lorne simply digs his nails harder into Lester’s skin as he pulls him close and fucks him harder. Lester can’t hold out any longer and comes with a shout, his orgasm washing over him while Lorne continues to thrust into him. A few seconds later Lorne follows, his cock buried as deep as he can inside Lester.

They both collapse onto the bed exhausted, and for a moment Lester thinks that Lorne might be about to kick him out like he did last time. But Lorne has other ideas. He props himself up on one elbow and turns to him.

“How did it feel, Lester?”

*

Three days later they’re back in the city to collect Lester’s fake ID. Lorne refuses to allow Lester to come up to the forger’s apartment with him, so Lester waits in the car and watches a few snowflakes fall under the yellow glow of the streetlights. He looks up at the apartment block, what he can make out of it in the dark, and realises that he has no idea what’s going on up there. The criminal underworld, the black market, it’s all another world to him.

After only a few minutes Lorne gets back into the car and passes Lester a brown envelope.

“You’re now John Miller,” Lorne tells him. He looks Lester over doubtfully. “Don’t look much like a John to me.”

Lester reaches into the envelope and pulls out a driver’s licence. It looks and feels official, even though he knows it’s not.

“It’ll all check out, if the cops run checks on you,” says Lorne.

Lester notices a second envelope in Lorne’s gloved hand. “Wait, why do you have one as well?”

“The cops in Bemidji connected my name to yours, so now they’re looking for us both. From now on, you’re to call me… William Davis,” says Lorne, with a glance down at his own licence. “All these years, Lester, I kept my real name clean.”

Lorne continues to mourn the loss of his own unusual name as they drive to a motel in the city.


	3. Chapter 3

Lester crosses the almost empty parking lot towards the motel room in Bismarck which he now calls home. He doesn’t know what he’d call Lorne now. His boyfriend? It doesn’t sound quite right. They have sex. They spend time together. But he doesn’t know what Lorne would call it. For all that Lorne talks, he’s hard to read.

At least they haven’t seen any cops. Lorne’s experience and fake driver’s licences seem to have kept them safe.

In the past two weeks since they came to this city, Lester has thought a couple of times about what he would do if Lorne took another job. Another contract. He’s decided that he wouldn’t get involved or even accompany Lorne on a job. Not because it might be dangerous, but because Lester is determined that he is not going to let Lorne persuade him to do what he does. He’s not a killer.

Ok, there was Linda, but that was self defence, he had to or she would’ve sent the cops straight after them. Lester is not going to become some kind of cold-hearted assassin. He can’t do that, can’t just gun someone down in cold blood. 

Lester wants to put recent events behind him and start a new life. It’s not going to be like this forever, always in fear of the cops or the FBI knocking on his door, it just can’t. He’ll start again under his new name. He’ll get a new job, perhaps selling insurance; Lester can sell insurance better than anyone. He’ll be a decent, respected member of society again. He’ll get a new car, one that’s really his, not stolen, and a new house as beautiful as the one he left behind.

Lester opens the door of the motel room, still day-dreaming of his new life, and sees Lorne waiting for him. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in his dark grey coat, his black leather bag resting on the floor. Lorne stands up purposefully as Lester walks in, and Lester knows. 

“You’re leaving,” says Lester. It’s a statement, not a question. _You can’t leave_ , he thinks. _Don’t. Please_.

“Yes,” says Lorne. “I have a job in South Dakota, about three hours south of here, a ‘small problem’ that my client needs to be taken care of.”

“Right now?”

“I got the assignment this morning, but I waited until you got back to say goodbye.”

“But-”

“I have to take this, Lester. I need the money. Do you have any idea how much fake driver’s licences cost?” Lester shakes his head. “Six thousand dollars _each_.”

Lester didn’t know. “But you’re coming back, right?”

“Of course. It should only take a few days. I just don’t want you to come with me, it’s too dangerous.” Lorne picks up his bag. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Take care, Lester.” He kisses Lester in a brief, unexpectedly gentle goodbye, then walks past him and out the door before Lester can think of anything more to say. 

Lester stares at the closed door in shock. Just like that, Lorne’s gone.

Maybe it’s for the best that Lester isn’t going with him. He doesn’t want to be involved in his world of organised crime and contract killings.

Or maybe he owes Lorne. Six thousand dollars, in fact.

Maybe he shouldn’t do this.

Maybe he should.

Lester decides. He hurriedly opens the door again and looks out towards the parking lot, but can’t see Lorne anywhere.

“Lorne, wait!” he shouts.

There’s no reply. Lester breathes into the silence, waiting, hoping that Lorne heard him.

He did. Lorne stalks back along the side of the motel, like a big cat hunting its prey, and he’s angry. He roughly pushes Lester back into the room without a word, and doesn’t speak until the door is closed firmly behind them. 

“What the _fuck_ are you doing, Lester? Are you _stupid_?” hisses Lorne in a low voice, his face only inches from Lester’s.

“I- I wanted to-” begins Lester. 

“You don’t use my real name in public, not _ever_ , do you understand me?”

“Heck, no,” says Lester, only now realising his mistake, “sorry, I forgot. I just, I had to ask.”

“What?”

“The job,” begins Lester nervously. “I mean, one of those licences was for me, so I thought, I should, you know, help. On this job.” Lorne raises an eyebrow at this. “Just this one time,” clarifies Lester. “To pay you back.”

Lorne considers this offer for a moment before asking softly, “Are you sure you want to do this, Lester?”

“Yes, it’s just- yes.”

Lester holds himself up straight under Lorne’s gaze and waits for him to reply. Lester is capable of doing this job, Lorne just needs to recognise this. And he’s ready to argue his case if Lorne says _no_. He’s already got ten good reasons Lorne should agree.

“We split the money fifty-fifty, you follow my lead and do exactly as I say,” says Lorne. “Pack.”

Lester doesn’t argue.

As they check out of the motel ten minutes later, Lester tells himself he’s making the right decision. He owes Lorne and needs to pay him back, and this is the best way of doing it. He’s only doing this the once. And whoever they’re going to kill, he’s probably a criminal, he probably deserves it. Lester is a good person, really. If the cops weren’t after him, he wouldn’t even be in this situation, he wouldn’t have needed a fake licence in the first place.

He’s only doing this once. Just this once.

*

Once they arrive, it takes a couple of days of gathering information through various minor deceptions before Lorne decides exactly how they’re going to do this job. He goes through the plan with Lester step by step, and asks him again whether he’s sure he wants to be involved in this, but Lester is determined that he’s not going to chicken out now.

That evening, in a deserted parking lot next to an office building, Lorne and Lester sit in the warmth of their car, waiting. Most of the lights in the nondescript office building are still on, illuminating the rows of windows, even though few people are still there. Lester’s getting nervous. He knows that in one of those rooms is their target, working late and completely oblivious to what is about to happen.

It’s after eight in the evening when they see the target finally leave the office and head towards his car. Lorne looks at Lester questioningly, and Lester nods. He’s going to do this. 

It’s so easy, in the end.

Lester approaches the man as he’s about to get into his car, keys in hand. On hearing Lester’s footsteps behind him, the man turns and seems surprised to see him there. Lester remembers what Lorne told him, _don’t speak_ , _don’t hesitate_ , and pulls the trigger. Just one shot is all it takes. Lester watches, shocked, as the blood blooms through the man’s shirt before he falls to the ground. 

Lester’s still staring when Lorne appears beside him. He helps Lester bundle the body into the trunk of his own car before they drive away.

*

“You think you should feel bad,” states Lorne.

Lester glances briefly over at Lorne, sees the last of the street lights flicking over his face as he drives them out of the city, far away from what Lester’s just done. 

“But you don’t,” continues Lorne.

“That’s just it,” says Lester. This feeling has been bothering him since they left the parking lot, and he welcomes the opportunity to explain himself. “I’m a good person, of course I am, I’m as moral as the next man, but… he was a criminal, and as you said, he’d killed someone. He doesn’t deserve for me to feel bad about it.” 

“How _do_ you feel, Lester?” 

Lester considers for a moment. “Relieved, I guess.” It’s done. Nothing went wrong. They’re safe. He didn’t enjoy it, not at all, that would be wrong. He had a job to do, so he could pay Lorne back, and he did it. That’s it. Lester isn’t going to make a habit of doing this.

“What do you think?” he asks Lorne. “Is it wrong that I don’t feel bad about it?” 

“Me?” asks Lorne. “I think you shouldn’t worry what anyone else thinks. You do what you need to do.”

That’s not quite the reassurance that Lester was looking for.

*

A few weeks later they’re in Montana. It’s warmer than Minnesota, and it’s turning out to be a warm spring, so Lester buys a grey jacket to replace his thick winter coat.

Lester’s second job is a blackmailer. It’s a little more work to track down their target this time, but Lorne is an expert at this. After five days Lester shoots the man in the head and leaves him where they found him, in the men’s room in some dingy underground club.

He deserved it, thinks Lester.

*

The ocean off the coast of Oregon is so so blue, but Lester only spares a few moments to look. It’s a shimmering pale turquoise in the bright morning sunshine, and so calm. The hit last night didn’t go entirely to plan, and they had to ditch their car in a hurry after a cop got a good look at the license plate. So now they’re looking for a new one in a small parking lot on what feels like the edge of the world.

When Lorne eventually finds a car that he can easily break into, they take it. Soon they’re driving south and Lester can relax. The job is done and they’re both still in one piece.

*

Lester’s never been to New Mexico before, but he expected there to be deserts and there are. The rose-coloured desert they drive through seems to go on and on in all directions, flat to the horizon apart from a few occasional ridges in the distance. Lorne explains to Lester that this job can only be completed by killing the target in public, because he’s too cautious and has security around him at all times, so he teaches Lester how to use a knife.

Lester follows the target along the busy street, staying close behind him as they thread their way through the crowds. He stabs him just the way Lorne showed him, quickly and efficiently, so that he’ll bleed out in a matter of seconds. Lester doesn’t like doing it this way, being so close, doesn’t like the blood that spills onto his hand before he can pull out the knife. When the job is done Lester forces himself to not even look at the commotion unfolding behind him, just to keep on walking towards where Lorne will be waiting and ready to drive away.

*

It’s been a year since Lester left Bemidji for this new life of his on the run, and now Lorne and Lester are in Nebraska, where a thin layer of late winter snow still covers the ground. They stop off at a diner in what is supposed to be a quick stop on their way to their next job, but the moment they walk in it’s clear it won’t be. In one of the booths, drinking coffee and going through her files, sits Molly Solverson.

She doesn’t notice either of them until Lorne slides into the booth opposite her. She looks up from the page she’s reading and recognises him instantly. For a moment she stares at him in shock.

Although Lester doesn’t know what Lorne’s plan is yet, he sits down next to Lorne anyway. Molly briefly glances at him before her eyes flick back to Lorne warily. She makes to stand, moving her hand towards her gun in its holster as she does so, but Lorne stops her with a slight shake of his head. 

“I wouldn’t.” Lorne speaks softly but the unspoken threat is clear. “Sit.” 

She pauses, half-standing with her hand by her hip, and looks at him carefully like he’s some kind of wild, dangerous animal. Then she slowly sits back down and carefully places both hands, empty, on the table top.

“Lorne Malvo,” she says by way of introduction.

“Molly Solverson,” replies Lorne. 

Lester glances down at Molly’s files on the table. He picks up the topmost one and quickly scans through it. He soon sees it’s a report of a car theft in Nebraska, a car he recognises as one they stole a couple of weeks ago. It’s all the confirmation he needs that this isn’t just a coincidence. Molly is here after them.

Lester considers what their options are. Molly’s clearly armed, but alone. They could shoot her, but some of the other customers in this diner could be armed and it could get messy. If there’s a security camera watching they’d have to take that out as well. For now, Lester waits and silently watches. Lorne seems to have a plan. 

“Why are you here, Molly?” asks Lorne.

“You know why I’m here,” says Molly, seemingly confused that Lorne’s asked this question. “You’re a suspect for twenty-eight homicides in Bemidji, Duluth and Fargo.”

“That few?” he asks thoughtfully. “Well, you’ve got your suspect in front of you. What do you want to ask?” 

Molly looks surprised and taken aback by Lorne’s offer, but she asks anyway. “Did you kill them? Sam Hess, Vern Thurman, Don-”

“Yes, probably,” interrupts Lorne. “Don’t expect me to know all their names though.”

“I don’t understand. How could you kill all those people?” exclaims Molly. “Twenty-two people in _one day_ up in Fargo,” she continues, braver now, “whatever it was you wanted, you didn’t need to kill them to get it. They all had families who have to carry on without them, every one. Twenty-eight people, and you don’t even know their names.” She stops, suddenly catching herself.

Lorne looks her over for a few moments before he speaks again.

“You’re a good woman, Molly. You’ve got a husband, and the little one too, only a year old.” 

“How…?” Molly’s shaking now, but still trying to stay calm. “If you hurt my baby-”

“If you were able to understand,” says Lorne, staring intensely at Molly now, “not just to know the facts, but to truly understand _why_ I’ve done what I’ve done, you wouldn’t be that good woman any more. What do you want it to be? For me to have an excuse? A good reason for why I did what I did? All I’ve ever done is what I wanted to do, what interested me, what I enjoyed, and I’m not going to pretend that I feel any guilt about it. What I’m telling you, Molly, is that you _don’t want_ to understand.” 

“Try me.” 

Lorne glances around the diner to confirm that no-one else is paying them any attention. “What do you _really_ want?” he asks.

“Justice,” answers Molly immediately. “Give yourself up and come down to the station with me.” 

“I can’t let you do that,” says Lorne with a smile. “But tell you what. If justice is as important to you as you say. You tell me the name of the worst criminal currently at large, excluding me of course, you know the type, a man who’s committed terrible crimes and you can’t track him down, or maybe you can’t get a conviction even though you _know_ he’s guilty as fuck. And I’ll kill him for you. You’ll have your justice, I’ll have my freedom, everybody wins.” He leans back in his seat and watches her.

“No.” Molly’s shaking even more now, and takes a moment before she continues. “I thought you were the most dangerous criminal I ever pursued. But no. That’s not what you are. You’re the Devil himself. Because it’d be so easy, just say a name and it’s done. But where would it end? Revenge is not justice, never.”

“Your choice.” Lorne looks her over carefully. “We’re done. If you, personally, _ever_ come after me or Lester again, you may find that your family aren’t there when you get back.”

“So can I go?” she manages.

“Yes.”

Molly picks up her files with forced calmness and stands up. Lester watches with surprise. Surely Lorne’s not going to just let her walk away?

“One more thing,” says Lorne, and Molly freezes. “Your mother. She died when you were very young, didn’t she? You don’t remember it, and your father never told you what happened.”

“No,” says Molly, “that’s not true.”

“Do you remember what he told you?”

“A drifter broke into our house, he killed her.”

“ _Really_ , Molly? That’s what your father said? And you believed him?” 

“Yes.”

“He’s lying to you. He never even showed you the police report, did he?”

“He wouldn’t-” begins Molly, a little uncertain now. She tries to say more but no words come. The doubt is beginning to show on her face.

“It was me,” says Lorne, trying not to laugh, like he’s just told the punchline to a joke.

Molly just stares in shock.

“I needed some information from your father, when he was a cop up in South Dakota,” explains Lorne. “But he wouldn’t give it to me, even after I threatened him. So I went to his house when he wasn’t there and,” Lorne shrugs, “you know the rest. You take a lot after your mother, you know.”

Molly reaches for her gun but stops herself. She looks helplessly around the diner but everybody else is oblivious.

“You see?” says Lorne, his eyes fixed on Molly. “Now you’re angry, aren’t you? You want your revenge. Where are your high ideals of justice now, Molly? You want to shoot me dead on the spot. But you know you can’t because I’d kill you before your fingers even touched the trigger.”

As Molly continues to stare, Lorne stands up and looks pointedly at Lester. Lester glances at him then back at Molly, puzzled. He then realises that this conversation is over and quickly gets up to let Lorne out of the booth, before following him out of the diner.

“We’re just letting her go?” asks Lester.

*

When they first arrive in Arkansas, Lorne terrifies Lester with stories of the alligators that live in the swamps and can, so he says, drag a grown man in. But then Lorne lets slip that he actually grew up here. For days after, Lester tries to find out more but Lorne won’t answer any of his questions.

“I’m not going to tell you the name of the town I grew up in,” says Lorne in answer to one of Lester’s many questions, as he washes blood from his hands in a dimly-lit bathroom, blood swirling around the sink. “It’s not important. I’m never going back there. I didn’t exactly have what you would call a _happy_ childhood.”

That’s the most Lester gets from him on the matter. Lorne can talk for hours if he has a subject that particularly interests him, but on this, he’s silent.

*

Outside a rest stop somewhere in North Carolina, Lester intently watches a small group of three young men. The group, in their early twenties at most, are joking amongst themselves with all the macho posturing that they can manage. They’re loud and obnoxious, but that’s not the point.

Lester’s angry, so, so angry. He’s holding himself deliberately still to hide the rage that threatens to shake his entire body. He reaches a hand inside his jacket just to feel the hard edges of his gun, and it reassures him to know that he could shoot all three of them dead right now if he chose to. That’s what they deserve for what they’ve done.

With this thought, Lester’s memory of the past hour returns to the front of his mind, and he begins to shake with anger again as he replays the events in his head. He’d been driving alone today, travelling north towards the town in which he and Lorne had arranged to meet this evening. It had been a pleasant drive across the plains of North Carolina and Lester had the windows down to enjoy the late summer warmth. He passed vast fields of cotton, fluffy bursts of white on rows of bushes as far as the eye could see, and felt that everything was right with the world.

This peace was abruptly broken by a group of boys in a pick-up truck overtaking him. Their driving had been so careless, so dangerous, that it had almost pushed him off the road. After a moment’s thought, Lester caught back up with the pick-up truck and observed the occupants, who were alternately looking back at him and laughing amongst themselves.

They could have killed him, and Lester was furious. How dare they risk his life like that? The old Lester would have just let it go, maybe even come up with an excuse for their actions. Not this Lester. He doesn’t let people treat him like that, not any more.

Now Lester follows them into the rest stop, keeping some distance behind. He feels the weight of the gun in his pocket again, his reassurance that he’s in control, that he has absolute power of life or death over these people. _No_ , he tells himself, Lorne would advise against the gun. In a busy place like this, it would simply draw too much attention. Too much hassle. Lester has another careful look over at the small group, now seated at a table, and heads towards the bathroom.

It takes a while before one of them comes in, but Lester’s still angry and waiting for him with his belt gripped firmly in his hands. He wraps it around the other man’s neck and squeezes the life out of him, ignoring his gasps and his clutching hands, not stopping until the man’s been slumped against him for some time and he’s absolutely sure he’s dead. Lester hides his body in a stall and waits for the other two to come looking for their friend.

Once he’s finished, Lester checks his handiwork, and for a moment he’s almost shocked at the sight of the three bodies he’s just dragged into their hiding place in the stall. Then he catches himself. It could have been Lester who was dead today, instead of them. Satisfied, he gets back into his car and sets off to meet Lorne.

*

New York city in winter is a city of concrete and yellow taxi cabs and snow. It’s the middle of the night, and they’re on a fire escape outside the ninth floor of an old apartment building. Lester leans against the railings as he watches Lorne break in to their target’s apartment. It doesn’t take long for Lorne to quietly force the door open and then they’re inside. Lester pulls his gun out of his jacket pocket in readiness as they split up to search the apartment.

The first room Lester comes to is a bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment the room is dark, lit only by the dim light coming in the window from the street outside. Lester walks softly around the bed to get a better look at the figure sleeping there. He’s not the target. There were only supposed to be two people here tonight, their target and his girlfriend, Lester wasn’t expecting a roommate. But he can’t let that fact bother him. He can’t take the risk of leaving anyone alive in this apartment able to raise the alarm before they’ve finished the job. It’s an instant decision, and Lester shoots the man once in the head, the sound muffled slightly by the silencer.

Lester hears Lorne moving about the apartment to check each room, followed by two gunshots in quick succession.

“All done?” asks Lester, when Lorne finally walks in.

“Yes,” answers Lorne, but he doesn’t move to leave. Instead he looks around the darkened room, and then at Lester where he’s still standing by the window. Lester’s sure Lorne won’t find any fault with the job he’s done, but glances again at the body lying in the bed to check, where blood is now splattered across the pillows.

“Uhh, shouldn’t we be leaving now?” asks Lester.

Lorne continues to look Lester up and down like he hasn’t heard him, rubbing his thumb over the slide of his gun. 

“How about you suck my dick,” states Lorne.

“ _Jeez_ , not here, we can’t, we- we have to leave.” Lester’s done it before, of course, many times, but never like this. Not while they’re on a job.

Lorne lifts his silver gun, still with the silencer attached, index finger carefully resting on the side of the gun above the trigger, and says, “I _said_ , suck my dick.”

“Shit, Lorne, is that thing still loaded?” asks Lester nervously.

“Yes. And it’s going to stay loaded until we’re a long way from here.”

Lester could say no. Lester should say no. Lorne would never actually shoot him, he’s sure of that now. All he has to do is look Lorne in the eye and say _no_ , and Lorne will drop this little game.

For a brief moment Lester wonders what it would be like if he agreed. Lorne forcing him to his knees, taking control. He can’t deny that the thought of it turns him on.

No. Lester really, really shouldn’t do this. Not here and not now. They never do this on a job. There’s a dead body in the same room still bleeding out into the sheets, two more dead in another room, and they could be discovered at any moment. No, he’ll tell Lorne to stop, they’ll go back to their hotel room and clean up, and then they can play this game. 

“On your knees, Lester,” orders Lorne, gesturing to the floor in front of him with his gun.

Lester drops to his knees in a rush. He unzips Lorne’s jeans, pulls out his hard cock and takes him as far as he can into his mouth. Above him Lorne hisses with pleasure and roughly grabs his hair. Lester doesn’t need Lorne to tell him that he’s going to have to swallow; he’s not _stupid_ enough to leave any evidence behind.

*

“Can you _believe_ this?” asks Lester.

Lorne hardly even looks up from his coffee. They’re having a late breakfast in a café on the other side of New York. Lester holds up the newspaper he’s been reading to show Lorne. 

Lorne scans the page for a couple of seconds. “The Manhattan apartment homicide?”

Lester nods expectantly at Lorne, who just raises his eyebrows in return.

Having failed in his attempt to get Lorne’s interest, Lester resumes reading. “ _Massacre_?” he reads from the article. “Jeez, there were only three of them. They need to get their facts right.” He glances up at Lorne, but his attention appears to be more focussed on a small group of students who have just walked in the door.

“Would you believe this?” continues Lester. “They’re making them out to be totally innocent, but your two, they were drug dealers, or worse, and I bet the other guy was too.”

“So?”

“So? I don’t like to read these things printed about us, things that aren’t true.”

“Then don’t read it,” answers Lorne calmly. 

“But they’ll still be writing it. I’m not a _cold-blooded killer_ or a _heartless murderer_ or a _dangerous psychopath_. I’m not any of these things that they’ve written about me. They’ve got me all wrong. I’m not this… kind of… monster that they think I am.”

Lorne is still watching the small group debating what to order. Lester gives up trying to explain and goes back to reading the paper with a sigh.

*

It’s been two years now since Lester left Bemidji, and he’s back in the snowy north in South Dakota.

He’s in the store at a small gas station, in some small town that he’s already forgotten the name of, when he spots a tall blond man outside staring in at him. He’s not sure if the man means trouble or has some harmless reason for his interest. Either way, Lester knows the best way to deal with this. Once he’s paid, he doesn’t go back to the car where Lorne is waiting. Instead he walks right up to the man, making sure to look him in the eye as he does so. 

“Help you?” asks Lester, carefully watching the other man for his reaction. 

The man doesn’t reply but just stares back at him. Lester briefly looks him over. He’s far too unfashionably dressed to be a hitman, or undercover cop, or anyone that Lester needs to worry about. The worn blue jeans have seen better days, and there’s an ugly old jacket that might once have been pale sandy brown.

The blond man still hasn’t said a word, and Lester concludes that he is wasting his time on a complete idiot. 

Suddenly Lester feels the barrel of a gun pressed into his side and freezes. Before he’s had time to decide whether he can risk going for the gun in his coat pocket, the other man has already reached in to Lester’s pocket himself and retrieved it. He grabs Lester’s shoulder and shoves him in the direction of his car, his gun pressed firmly to Lester’s back. 

_Now_ Lester remembers the blond man, remembers him kidnapping Lester and trying to throw him into a frozen lake.

Lorne’s preoccupied, flicking through the small collection of CDs left in the car by its previous owner, and doesn’t even look up as Lester gets back into the passenger seat. Neither does he see the other man get in the back of the car, keeping his gun aimed at Lester. As the car doors slam closed Lorne finally looks round to see a gun in his face.

“I’m sorry, Lorne,” says Lester quietly. 

Whatever Lorne is thinking, he doesn’t show it. He just glances at the armed man on the back seat and starts the engine.

*

For a few miles they drive in silence.

“His codename is Mr Wrench,” explains Lorne. “He’s a hitman out of Fargo. Deaf.” He deliberately doesn’t turn his head as he speaks, and Lester realises he does this so that Wrench can’t lip-read what he’s saying.

“What do we do?” asks Lester, following Lorne’s lead by also looking straight ahead.

“While he’s got a gun pointed at our heads? Nothing.”

“What does he want with us?”

“I killed his partner a couple of years back. I guess he’s still mad about it.”

*

They’re well out of town on a deserted, snow-covered road when Wrench taps Lorne on the shoulder and gestures for him to pull over. Once the car is stationary, Wrench turns to Lester and reaches one hand in front of him in an odd movement. Lester stares for a moment in confusion.

“I don’t-” begins Lester, then remembers that Wrench can’t hear him.

Lester glances over his shoulder at Wrench, who just glares back at him, seemingly annoyed at his lack of understanding. Wrench pushes him towards the door and then Lester realises: he’s supposed to get out of the car now.

As Lester steps out onto the snow-covered ground, Lorne exits the car on the other side. Lester tries to catch his eye over the roof of the car to ask what their escape plan might be, but Lorne’s keeping his face carefully impassive.

They’ve stopped in the middle of a forest, into which they now begin to walk, in the direction that Wrench has pointed them. They pass through the snow-covered fir trees in complete silence apart from the soft crunch of their boots into the snow. Wrench follows just behind them where he can keep them both in view, aiming his gun alternately at each of them as they walk. Lester still can’t catch Lorne’s eye, but he’s not afraid. Lester knows how to handle himself, he’s been in many dangerous situations before. And he’s with Lorne Malvo, the man who can get out of anything. He ignores the thoughts of _what if_ at the back of his mind. What if they can’t escape? What if Wrench shoots them? No, he needs to stay calm, concentrate, that’s what Lorne always taught him. There’s always a way out. Lorne will find it.

Wrench stops them a few minutes into the forest. He pushes Lorne to his knees and ties his hands to a fir tree behind him, while Lorne looks completely bored with the whole thing, like being kidnapped is just a minor inconvenience. Lester watches but can’t make his move yet. Even though Wrench is partly distracted by tying the rope, Lester doesn’t have his gun. Wrench has taken away his means of self-defence and this annoys him intensely.

Wrench steps over to Lester, forces him to his knees as well and begins to fasten his hands to a second tree. Lester glances over at Lorne, intending to ask _what’s the plan?_ , but he stops when he sees his face. Lorne is utterly calm, like he’s watching a movie he’s seen before, like he already knows how it ends. And then Lester knows. He’s going to die here.

He panics, forgetting his plan to act calm and in control. He pulls back against the rope binding his wrists as hard as he can, but Wrench has already tied them too tight. Lester twists as he tries to find an angle that will allow him more leverage, holding his breath as he does so, trying to not make any noise.

“He can’t hear you, you know,” observes Lorne casually. Lester hardly hears him over the high-pitched whine in his ears. 

“No,” he says, to Lorne, to Wrench, to anyone who might listen. “I can’t die. I haven’t finished- I’m not ready.”

“No-one is ever ready.” 

Lester refuses to face death calmly. And how can Lorne still be calm, watching everything with curious interest? Lester doesn’t want him to be calm, he wants anger. An angry Lorne would save them. 

“I- ,” begins Lester, aware that he’s never said this to Lorne before, “love you.”

“I know,” says Lorne with a small smile. 

Wrench is standing in front of them now, and he begins to sign to Lorne in angry, exaggerated movements. He’s visibly shaking with anger as he holds his hands raised for a moment, palms facing each other, and he stares furiously at Lorne like he expects an answer. Lester doesn’t understand a word, and from the blank look on Lorne’s face neither does he. 

Finally Wrench pulls a battered piece of paper from his jacket pocket, which he unfolds and shows to Lorne. From where he is, Lester can just about read the message scrawled in black ink: _You killed my partner. Now I’m going to kill yours_. Then Wrench pulls out a short hunting knife, and Lester can’t breathe.

“Lorne?” asks Lester desperately. “You’ve got to get us out of this, please.” 

“I can’t do anything,” says Lorne calmly.

“But what-” 

“First he’ll kill you, to try to get a reaction out of me, which won’t work. After that I imagine he’ll torture me a little before his anger gets the better of him and he kills me too. Then he’ll hide our bodies in the woods. Is that what you wanted to know, Lester?”

“Heck, no, please, Lorne-”

“ _Lester_ ,” says Lorne reproachfully, like Lester’s getting all worked up over nothing. “Don’t. Face it like a man.”

“No, Lorne, I can’t.” Lester glances again at the knife in Wrench’s hand.

“Do this for me. Look at me, Lester.” 

Lester tears his eyes away from Wrench to see no fear at all in Lorne’s dark eyes. Lorne will face his death like he faces everything else, curious to see what will happen next.

Lester hears Wrench step behind him but doesn’t turn to look, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Lorne. He feels the cold metal of the knife pressed against his neck as Wrench stalls, waiting for a reaction from Lorne that never comes. Lester’s whole world narrows down to the knife against his neck, and frantically he tries to think of something he can do. He should never have stopped at that particular gas station. He should have been quicker going for his gun.

“Aren’t you afraid?” he asks, grasping at his last straw, one that never could save him.

“Why? It won’t help, not at all.” Lorne shrugs. “Goodbye, Lester.”

*

 

 

Ten minutes later Wrench and Lester lie dead in the snow.

Lorne kicks the dirty snow from his boots before he gets back into the car.


End file.
